Page 54 of Brutal Surrender

This is it. I’m getting turned over to the pimp. But Vincent still hasn’t gotten the information he tried so hard to get out of me. Is he really ready to just hand me over to someone else?

He motions for Misty to step outside, then walks over to the dining table. He lifts the lid off the teapot there. “You haven’t taken your herbs.”

“They’re really bitter,” I complain.

“They’ll improve your health. Don’t you want to be healthy enough to kill me someday?”

“You gonna give me that chance?” I ask facetiously.

He chuckles. “I’m afraid I have my own unfinished mission in life.”

“Oh?” What more could he wants in life? Doesn’t he have it all? How greedy and power hungry can one man get?

“It’s not unlike yours,” he continues, “and I don’t plan to die before I accomplish it.”

He pours me a cup of the tea. Vincent and I have something in common aside from our mutual hate of each other?

“Who are you trying to kill?” I ask. Maybe he’ll answer this time, though it shouldn’t really matter to me. But I find myself wanting to know.

His gaze darkens as he stares somewhere into the past. “Someone who needs to die. I won’t know peace until they do.”

I say to myself more than him, “That’s how I feel.”

He looks at me and holds out the teacup. I make a face.

“I don’t think you really want to kill me,” he remarks.

“Oh trust me, I do,” I assure. “Your death completes me.”

“If you truly wanted to kill me that badly, you would stop at nothing. You would do anything in your power to achieve your goal, but you can’t even drink a cup of tea.”

Pursing my lips in anger, I take the teacup from him and down it. When I set the teacup down, he refills it. To prove my determination, I down the second cup without hesitation.

He smiles. “I see you want to prove me wrong. That’s good. Anger can be motivating.”

What is he really trying to say? Is this some other mindfuckery he’s trying out? Maybe there’s poison in the tea. No, that doesn’t make sense. Why would he have kept me alive and flown sushi out from New York, just to poison me?

“The more I piss you off, the more you want to kill me, right?” he asks, refilling the cup yet again. “You’ll want to be alive for that.”

“You bet I do. That’s all I’m living for.”

He hands me the teacup. “I know the feeling. Living is useless, a waste of time and breath, unless you accomplish this one thing.”

What? Is he saying he gets me?

I take the tea and down it again. “Why do you care if I live or die? Especially if you’re so confident you can figure out who I am? But that’s all talk, right? You can’t even figure out that I don’t actually have any accomplices.”

His smirk worries me, like he knows something.

“I don’t really care if you live or die,” he replies. “I win either way.”

His words ring true, but I make myself believe otherwise.

“Because there are perks to keeping you alive,” he continues, grabbing me by the cheeks and pulling me closer. “You’re too much fun to fuck, pet.”

I try to squirm from his grasp. I hate how he’s always grabbing me by the face or throat.

His voice turns into a soft growl. “I love how wet you get for me.”

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